Blood of Stark
by Win or Die Winter is Coming
Summary: Six years have passed since the events of G.R.R. Martin's "A dance with dragons". Certain things have changed, yet others remain the same. Winter has finally arrived, bringing with it the horrors of the North. As is the fashion of ASOIAF, this story will be told through the eyes of many characters, only that these characters will have Stark blood. Only prologue and epilogue differ.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

 **A/N: Six years have passed since the events of George R.R. Martin's A Dance with Dragons. Some things have changed yet others remain the same. Winter has come at last, bringing with it all the horrors of the North and the kingdom of Westeros is falling to pieces.**

 **Since the Song of Ice and Fire Series contains mature adult content this story will be rated as such. The story will be told through the eyes of many characters as is the fashion of G.R. R's writing, only that these characters will have Stark blood. The OCs and world created belong to G.R.R. Martin.**

Her long dark red brown hair fell over her breasts concealing her pink nipples. She stretched like a cat and the cloth that had been concealing her lower body fell on the floor, next to the bed she had been sleeping in.

Her eyes were closed, dark eyelashes casting shadows under her eyes. Her breath was slow and measured; a smile playing at the edges of her lips.

He approached slowly.

One step. Two steps. Three steps…

Ser Kalos Lannister stumbled and fell on the flour. The girl opened her eyes quickly and smiled when she saw him.

"My lion" she whispered and stretched more, her nakedness on full sight, taunting him.

He felt pressure against his britches and swallowed, sifting uncomfortably.

"My lady Alayne. Why was I not notified of your arrival sooner?" he asked, trying hard not to stare at her beautiful body.

She was cream and strawberries, honey and wine. Yet he hadn't seen her in over a year.

"My dear knight, how quick you are to accuse me… Or dare I say that during my time away you have forgotten me?" she asked in an innocent voice and turned around, her front against the red silk of his bed and her white, round bottom visible, her long auburn hair failing to conceal it.

She pressed her elbows on the bedding and her feet rose and started moving in the air, slowly.

He reached her side quickly and grabbed one arm forcefully. She raised her deep blue eyes to his, letting out a small scream of surprise. "I am Captain of the Kingsguard now. You better do well to remember this"

Alayne lowered her eyes. "As you say my Lord. Such tidings reached the Eyrie but my lord Father was quick to dismiss them. How could such a fool of a knight become Captain, he asked? How could a man who possessed nothing else other than the Lannister name rise to such a position, he said? How could…"

He grabbed her wrist more forcefully than before and turned her around so that her front was to him. She gave another small squeak of surprise. "Are you here to insult me, Alayne? Because if so, know that I have killed women before and I will do so again if the need arises"

Her blue eyes grew larger, betraying surprise and fear. Yet her next reaction baffled him; she smiled.

"Oh, I never thought you incapable of doing your duty. Protecting the king… Such an honour! Tell me of your honourable quest to Winterfell. I want to hear from your lips how you slew the traitors and protected the realm and the King?"

Ser Kalos shifted position and licked his lips. A cold breeze had entered the room from an open window and Alayne's nipples had grown hard. The pressure in his breeches was becoming near impossible to control. He yanked them down quickly with one hand while still holding Alayne's wrist with the other.

The girl gave another gasp of surprise but she made no move to oppose him. When he entered her she was covered in warm moisture and it was his turn to give a gasp of surprise.

"Tell me, my lion" Alayne continued and he pushed hard, trying to reach her depths.

"I went to Winterfell with a band of twenty men. As envoys, of course, not to raise suspicion. Once in there we were attacked by Bolton men, led by the Bastard himself. They wanted to skin us, they did, but we taught them better" he said and he thrust hard inside her again, the girl squirming in pleasure.

"More, my Captain" she pleaded.

He pinched her nipples hard and run his tongue over one, both hands now grabbing her wrists as he pumped inside her. "I skinned the Bolton Bastard myself. A sly one that was but I thrust my sword in him and he screamed…."

Alayne shouted in pleasure. "Like this?"

He released her wrists and turned her body around, entering her from behind. "His guts sprawled the stone floor, his little tongue twisting…"

"You showed him, my Captain, my lion. You showed him. What of his wife?" Alayne said as she screamed again, digging her nails in his lower back as he pumped into her.

"The Stark girl? What of her. I cut her head clean of her body and it rolled down the steps of Winterfell. She was heavy with child, that one, but once she was down that was that"

With a final stroke he came into her, hard and fast, his pleasure mounting. He never saw her reaction; at that moment he scarce cared whether his words had wounded her womanly nature. Nevertheless when he was done he rolled off her, his chest heaving and she pressed her head over his shoulders.

"How long will you stay Alayne?" he managed at last.

The girl cocked an eyebrow. "As long as Lord Baelish wants me to stay. He has brought the heir of the Eyrie with him"

Ser Kalos abruptly turned to face her. "He has brought that weakling boy with him? Why here, why now? He is but, what, thirteen years of age?"

"Some would say a man grown. He is to be wed soon" she said carefully and watched his reaction.

He jumped from the bed as if he had just been visited by ghosts. "What is this Alayne? You are marrying the boy and you visit me? What if someone saw you? I would be hung for treason and adultery and so would you!"

Alayne curled under the covers of his bed. "Ser Kalos even if I was to wed the King I would still visit you. My love for you has only strengthened during my time away"

For a moment Ser Kalos regarded her carefully. Her steady breath, her full lips her big, blue, innocent eyes. "Come away with me! No one shall ever know! We shall sail to Pentos together or go to Quarth? The war has still not reached them. We shall be safe there. The Dragon Queen protects all who come to her and she will not turn us away especially if she knows we have information of the King….."

He paused and studied her expression.

Alayne was laughing loudly. "Now, _that_ Ser Kalos is treason!"

He walked back to the bed and held her wrists tightly. "What else is there Alayne? I am a knight of the Kingsguard I have taken my vows… I cannot have you if we stay in Westeros. The better still. White walkers and wights have been sighted south of the Wall. I slew five such creatures while coming back from Winterfell. Soon, there will be nothing left"

Her expression suddenly turned serious and she rose from the bed without taking his hand to steady herself. She grabbed her robes and put them back on.

"Winter is coming" she whispered, the Stark words.

He watched her helplessly. "Please you must not marry him!"

Alayne paused, studying him. "Rest easy, Ser Kalos. I never said Robert Arryn was to be wed to me. There were arrangements for this, once. The little lord soon changed his mind, though. He wanted a younger wife, a wife with much more of a name than I"

Ser Kalos exhaled and the girl walked to his side, caressing his face. "My heart belongs to you and only you despite knowing that you have bedded many girls since I last saw you"

The knight shook his head quickly. "Never, mylady. Never. I swear to everything I hold dear"

She raised her eyebrow. "And what do you hold dear? Your honour as a knight of the Kingsguard? No, you dismissed this soon enough. Your family name? You forgot that sooner. Your love for me?"

"Yes. My love for you" he repeated and at that moment he knew it was true. He had been faithful in his own way. He had nod bedded a woman since last he had seen Alayne.

She laughed. "I believe you"

Alayne bent down and kissed his brow. "Now, I must return back to my father's chambers before he knows I am missing"

He watched as her skirts swayed behind her and her red hair fell tousled down her shoulders. He lay in bed long after, thinking about Kings and Queens. He had never defied an order. Never. Whatever they commanded him to do, he did. When Queen Margaery had whispered into his ear that she wanted Ramsay Bolton dead he had been quick to gather twenty swords and horses and head to Winterfell. The rest was history.

And yet there he was, so enthralled by Alayne's kisses that he would put all those vows aside. Sleep did not come to him easy and when last it did it was a troubled one.

When he felt the touch of steel on his face he tried to scream but cloth was pressed into his mouth. He opened his eyes only to see… Darkness… And a shadow dancing in his room.

The shadow pressed the dagger against his throat again until blood spilled and then put its finger on its lips. Ser Kalos nodded and the shadow took the cloth away from his mouth.

"Who are you?" he began, chocking.

The shadow moved. "I am no one. Who ordered you to murder the Stark girl?"

Ser Kalos closed his lips but the shadow was quick to chop a finger from his right hand. He went to scream but the cloth was back inside his mouth muffling his cries.

"The longer a man takes to tell the truth the more fingers no one will chop"

He swallowed and the cloth was taken from his mouth, leaving him free to talk. Yet he stayed silent. When the next finger was chopped off it wasn't as unexpected as the first one.

"A man could end his suffering. A man could tell the truth"

Ser Kalos studied the shadow. It was a humanoid shape for sure, yet it had no face. The Faceless Men. The realisation hit him hard and he knew in an instant what he must do.

When the cloth came out again he whispered Queen's Margaery's name. The shadow seemed pleased yet it took one more of his fingers nevertheless.

"Fear cuts deeper than swords" it whispered. "A man shall now wear a glove on his left hand. If a man says anything no one will know. If a man has lied no one will know and no one will come back"

As the shadow leapt from his window ser Kalos pressed his severed fingers against the red silk cloth of his bed and began to cry.

...


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 - Alayne**

"The Bolton Bastard and the Stark girl are dead as we suspected" Alayne said and poured two cups of wine. It was Dornish wine, her favourite, the sweet tanginess it left on her throat perfect for concealing bitter poisons. She always carried a cask with her.

Petyr rubbed his mustachios and raised the cup to her own. "Drink to that we shall then, sweet Alayne, though I very much believe the Bolton Bastard is still alive. That wouldn't be the first time he has managed to escape under a different name. Still, Winterfell, is now under no rule"

His gaze was calculating as he seeped the red Dornish.

Alayne walked to her nightstand and grabbed her brush. She tenderly brushed her hair until it shone. "I suspected as much. Despite Ser Kalos's fierceness he is often as blind as a bat. As stupid as a mule I would also add, though a mule tends to be loyal to his master whereas he is not. He works for himself that one. And me, of course"

Petyr regarded her steadily. "No doubt the poor boy has fallen for your charms"

Alayne gave him a bright smile. "I am afraid I am more persuasive than the Queen"

Then she grew quiet, her grip on the wine cup becoming stronger.

It was no secret that Ser Kalos had once had eyes for the Queen. The Queen knew this and had taken great care to use him at her disposal. Whether she had bedded him as well remained to be seen. Ser Kalos swore that he had stolen a kiss and a touch from her but no more. It had happened during her time in the Eyrie. Well… She couldn't have helped it. If she had been here she would have encouraged Ser Kalos to further pursue the Queen while still sharing Alayne's bed but…

"Winterfell. Is this what you are getting in return to wedding Robert to Faizah Tyrrell?" Alayne suddenly realised.

Littlefinger gave her a smirk. "It might be it is"

Alayne let out a loud breath. "The cold winds are rising in Winterfell. Why would you want to be there?"

Petyr came behind her and hugged her. "The white walkers will come sooner rather than later my dear daughter but Winterfell will be mine when this is over. Do not forget, Alayne. Chaos is a ladder"

Alayne pushed his hands away. "In the Game of Thrones, you win or you die. They are a strong people those wights and white walkers. We are powerless against them"

Petyr sighed. "I am powerless, I do admit. Hence why I shall stay in the Eyrie. Only dragons can attack me there and I doubt the dragon Queen harbors hard feelings against me. She barely knows me. Well… She knows one thing and that is that once she comes to Westeros I will pledge my allegiance with her"

Littlefinger's lips had salivated but he continued. "Besides, Starks appear immune to White Walkers. Once you go back to Winterfell be a dear little bird and ask your bastard brother how he has survived against them for this long"

Alayne span around to face him, the breath caught between her lungs. "You do not mean to send me back to Winterfell. Not now. Harenhall was what was promised to me"

"And you shall have that as well. First, however, I must know what happened to the Stark imposter and the Bolton bastard. Once Winterfell is mine I will send you in my stead. You know the people in Winterfell, you will rule wisely and if the Boltons come to oppose you, why, you will have twenty thousand swords with you"

Alayne was not impressed. "What of you? How will you fare in the Eyrie? Robert and Faizah will be the new liege lords"

Littlefinger smiled again. "Oh, yes. But Harenhall still remains mine, with my soldiers there and my servants and my whorehouses thus making me a lord. And a trusted advisor to the Lord of the Eyrie, If I may say so myself. Nevertheless you forget that young Robert only has eyes for you. Faizah… How old is she? Eleven, twelve? Has she flowered yet? Even if she has she will never give him any sons or daughters. I shall make sure of that. A servant girl will also be with her at all times to watch her moves… If at any point she proves to be uncooperative, why, the moon door is there"

She shivered remembering Lysa Arrin who had fallen to her death. Her aunt, yet she had tried killing her and would have done so if not for Littlefinger. She owed him that. She owed him that and much more.

"Young Robert may grow fond of Faizah Tyrell"

Petyr waved this away. "In comparison to you she is nothing. Besides she has not been taught in the arts of love"

Alayne nodded. This was true. Faizah was only eleven and at best she would know only how to kiss a boy. Alayne knew more than Faizah, much more. Every establishment Petyr owned, Alayne had visited. Whether to watch or participate she had learned much and more, becoming so skilled in such arts that men would only look at her and come.

Robert's affection for her went beyond that of a man for a woman but that of a boy for a mother, a brother for a sister, a friend for a friend, a comrade for a comrade. Alayne had been all that to Robert, filling every hole he ever had apart from one. That of a father; though that was Petyr's job not hers. In her own way she loved her cousin as well. He had been a spoilt, weak lord at first but after a few harsh lessons from Petyr he had grown up to become somewhat strong and wise.

Alayne had been the first one to advise him to stop taking the milk of the poppy. Within a fortnight the lord of the Vale had grown much stronger. Alayne had been the first to urge him to fight with a sword against ser Rupert. Alayne had sat with him at meetings that little Robert had always thought boring and made a game out of them that he loved so much he wanted to play with her every day.

And finally when Robert had had his twelfth birthday Alayne has been the first woman Robert had bed. For all of this she was proud and despite Lord Robert being a capable lord himself nowadays, both Littlefinger and she could find their way into his mind.

"I am told the Lord of the Eyrie arrives tomorrow. I should stay. I should be there when he sets eyes upon Faizah" she said.

Petyr started laughing, the red Dornish getting to his head. "My little bird, that's not jealously I sense is it?"

Alayne faced him in a calm demeanour and offered a small smile, betraying nothing. "I am protective of him, that is all. And in no hurry to go to Winterfell"

Littlefinger straightened up. "It was your wish not to marry the Lord of the Vale, something I found most displeasing, yet I granted you the wish. It altered my plans if truth be told but no matter. It is true that you are of more use to me and yourself when you can go about your business rather than stay shielded in one place. And why would your lord husband allow you to travel the lands of Westeros without any excuse?"

Alayne smiled. If truth be told she had never wanted to marry Lord Arryn. Nor become Lady of the Vale. Take back Winterfell? That may have once been her dream but that was for another girl with red hair, a girl named Sansa Stark with the blood of direwolves and winter running through her veins. Now, she was Petyr Baelish's bastard daughter and she would remain as such. She was his confidant and she was hers. He had been like a father to her. He had been her protector. Yet she trusted him no more than she trusted Ser Kalos's loyalty to the crown. Her place was … Nowhere. For once she was happy with that.

After a while of them drinking wine and saying nothing Littlefinger unseated himself.

"Will my lady join me to Chataya's? They hold the most splendid of shows I hear" Petyr asked her.

She liked that about him. He asked her and not even once had he forced her to do something she had not wanted to do. Of course he always did explain all the drawbacks and benefits of each of his plan, each of his adventure, making sure he highlighted the benefits until she could not refuse.

She yawned despite the fact she did want to visit Chataya's very much tonight. All education was good education and it never did anyone no harm learning more.

Alayne stepped into her dressing room and took off her gown, all the while Petyr's hungry eyes never leaving hers.

 _All men are the same_ , she concluded and almost smiled.

She brushed her hair again, sprayed a sweet cinnamon spiced perfume on her breasts, and dubbed some on her wrists, her knees and down there, on her lips, the brush of her fingers cool as a winter kiss. She wore a loose forest-green gown with lace around the edges and a cut in the front and back which left the top of her breasts and back bare.

Petyr gazed at her appreciatively.

"This colour looks lovely on you" he commented and she giggled like a young girl who still believed in knights and fairy tales.

She took his arm and he led her down the corridor, four guards following their steps closely. Servant girls and other guards were now fast asleep as it was past their bedtime.

 _Was it midnight already_ , Sansa wondered and then let out a small shout, covering her mouth with her palm.

 _No, not Sansa. I am Alayne,_ she told herself and walked faster, Petyr and the guards almost running after her.

When they exited the Red Keep the guards made a move to stop them but Petyr's smile and his bastard daughter's laugh made them step aside.

As soon as she stepped into the stone path of the city, the North cold wind tousled her hair and almost knocked her down. Petyr tightened her hold on her but she only laughed, the red Dornish keeping her warm. The snow was ankle deep and a carriage came to collect them. The guards rode horses, she and Petyr did not need to. Inside the carriage she was protected from the cold wind and soon they arrived in Chataya's.

Chataya was well known in all parts of Westeros and hers was one of the finest and most expensive establishments. Petyr had bought the place only a few years back and even though the previous owner seemed to despise him for that the girls in Chatayas did not. In his hands this establishment had risen to fame even faster.

When Chataya herself came to greet them, none of the distaste she bore for Petyr was shown on her beautiful, if not slightly old face. She gave Littlefinger a moist kiss and then to Alayne she gave the warmest of hugs. No one would have known she hated them. Alayne in turn greeted her with the same warmth, despite the now, of late snow and cold. Once inside, Petyr paused near the entrance and conversed with Chataya, laughing at her jests.

Alayne, walked through the main hallway casually, the groans and moans of pleasure echoing throughout the building. One of the new girls took her cloak and Alayne threw her a silver coin. No one could have said she was unkind.

She climbed the stairs one step at a time, watching, hearing, never missing a sound.

The new High Septon was in the last room of the ground floor to the right. A young boy no older than fourteen was leaning in front of him and making smacking noises. Oh, yes. The Septon had his guilty pleasures though he was young, younger than any of his predecessors. Dark brown hair still crowned his head; the seven star, the symbol of the faith was engraved on his back. His body was still taught, thick coarse brown hairs running down the length of him. Alayne watched the youth, silently. Quickly she realised that the youth was enjoying what he was doing and she smiled.

Rumours of the previous High Septon had reached the Eyrie and told stories more horrifying than this. The High Septon had been kind, but cruel. Kind to the small people, cruel to the lords and the kings. He had imprisoned Margaery and Loras Tyrell, had made Queen Cersei walk down the streets to the Red Keep naked and had imprisoned countless others.

If truth be told, Alayne did not blame him. They deserved it, though Loras and Margaery perhaps not so much. The Tyrrells she had known then, had always been kind to her. Her engagement to Loras would have freed her much quicker had she taken that path but a certain Lannister had come in the way. Margaery had married Tommen and had become the new Queen, though the crown had turned her cruel over the last six years. She had given birth to two children, both with the crown of golden hair and green eyes of the Lannisters. No one could deny that the children had Lannister blood. Whether they were Tommen's though that was another matter.

Once, she may have attempted to get close to King Tommen. If truth be told he would not recognise her. And if everything went according to plan, he would even welcome her to court. Yet, the threat of being recognised by both Margaery and Cersei hung in the air. Better to bed one of the soldiers and get her information from there.

Her steps took her to Alayaya's, Chataya's daughter, chambers and she waited outside, almost afraid to knock. Moans echoed from the room and Alayne pressed her back near the door, the crack wide enough for her to witness what was happening in the other room.

An old man, one who was no one else other than King Landing's Maester, Vlyn, was being pleasured by Alayaya. It began with the dark-skinned girl caressing his length and then taking him inside her. Soon, too soon, however, the old man pulled out and Alayaya had to finish him off with her mouth. The man groaned and sat back onto the bed; the girl carefully spitting out what she had taken. She must have spied Alayne looking through the crack because she winked at her while Maester Vlyn told stories of how the King, Tommen, would come to him and ask for potions and milk of the poppy. A kind-hearted boy, Vlyn said, yet weak and clay at the hands of both his mother and wife Queen. Jaimie Lannister had joined the Kingsguard alongside Brienne of Tarth, the comely woman who fought better than most men in Westeros. He swore the King could not have asked for better protectors yet both Queens despised them much.

Once he was dressed, he left the room and passed Alayne without giving her a second glance, most probably mistaking her for another woman of the house. She did not blame him.

Alayaya opened the doors, wearing just a loose crop top and a white, long, tight skirt. Her windows were closed and no cold air came through them, yet her dark brown nipples were hard, showing against the light fabric.

"I thought you would never come" she purred in a cat-like voice and brushed Alayne's red hair with her thumbs and then grazed gently until just above her chest, all the while never allowing her gaze to linger.

Alayne allowed this and soon Alayaya had taken her in the room, her hips swaying from side to side, her eyes a dark pool of black rubies.

 _No,_ Alayne thought. She had been mistaken. Not a cat. In front of her stood a panther.

When she told as much to the other girl, Alayaya laughed.

"I have been called many things over the year, yet a panther never" she said and with a single movement of hers brought Alayne's body closer to her. Despite the layers of clothing standing between them, Alayne could feel herself responding to the other girl's touches.

Yet she made no move, waiting for Alayaya to initiate. And Alayaya did just that. She brought her mouth down on hers – she was an inch taller than her – and pressed her full moist lips on her own. Her mouth smelled of mint and soap; Alayne guessed she would have washed after Vlyn.

Alayaya's hands brought Alayne's body closer to hers and her hips started swaying from side to side, gently. Yet Alayne waited.

Alayaya abruptly stopped and regarded her with caution. "We used to have such fun together. What has changed your mind, I wonder"

Alayne laughed and relaxed the pressure of the tight green bodice, letting it fall gently on her skin. She sprawled on the bed, with her back against the pillows, her knees up. "I want you to try your best to lure me. I will do nothing to stop you or otherwise urge you. I want to see what you can do, which shall not be hard. I am already wet for you"

The other girl smiled, obviously pleased with the challenge. She said nothing and walked slowly to the bed, her hips swaying again, her waist making circles. She kneeled on the floor and caressed Alayne's face, her cheeks, her lips, reaching down her neck to her breasts. Alayaya pulled the cloth apart and run her forefinger on an already painfully tight nipple. Then she undid her own piece of clothing, her large perfectly round breasts spilling in front of her.

Alayaya climbed atop Alayne, their bodies not touching. Yet, her breasts run down her own with every swaying of Alayaya's hips. Her fingers went back to their work, caressing each breast gently, then harder. Alayaya planted a kiss on Alayne's neck, a quick one, and then another till she reached her ear. She nibbled at the soft flesh and Alayne could no longer keep the moan from escaping her. The girl kissed Alayne then, gentle and then her soft, wet tongue darted inside her mouth, teasing her, caressing her. She pulled away and came closer only to pull away again.

Alayne could feel her pulse quickening. She knew this game. Despite herself she made attempts to catch the other girl's lips in her own but Alayaya smiled and shook her finger. Then she pressed one knee against Alayne's sweet spot and she cried out in pleasure. She did it again, only this time she moved it up and down, caressing her in a hard way, in a sweet pleasurable way.

Alayne cried out again but by then Alayaya had already pulled her green grown apart and spilled it on the floor. Her knee never left her sweet spot and then Alayaya kissed her on the mouth, on the neck, on her breasts, on her ribs, on her hips and then, then …

Her tongue darted out and started moving up and down in circling motions, never going inside her. Her lips came after, following the path her tongue had taken. Her kiss was one of the sweetest Alayne had ever received and she cried out in pleasure, once, twice, thrice… She lost count.

Alayaya climbed atop her again, pulling her white skirts away and rubbing herself against Alayne. The dark-skinned woman groaned as their upper and lower lips connected and she started moving fast, faster than Alayne had ever seen Petyr ride his horse. Another wave of pleasure hit her and this time Alayne paused.

In one swift move she had turned the other woman around. The surprise was evident in the whore's eyes yet she did not utter a word only smiled.

"My turn" Alayne whispered and put a finger in her mouth wetting it, then caressing Alayaya's huge breasts.

Her fingers soon reached Alayaya's sweet spot and she proceeded gently, touching softly, then hard, then harder, Alayaya ready to scream but Alayne moved her hand away before she did.

Alayaya shuddered and looked at her perplexed. Alayne repeated the same movements again, only with her knee, stopping just before Alayaya came.

She did not know how long she did this only that at some point Alayaya went to the floor, dragging Alayne with her.

"Please" she whispered. "Please"

Alayne pressed her body against the other woman and swayed her hips gently, then harder and then she stopped.

Alayaya almost screamed in frustration. She eyed Alayne suspiciously but Alayne only laughed and pressed Alayaya's hands above her tightly. With her other she pressed her thumb on Alayaya's sweet spot and entered her with her forefinger and middle. When Alayaya's pleasure finally came the woman screamed so hard that for an instant Alayne was afraid the walls would come down. Alayaya's shudders rocked both bodies but Alayne's fingers never stopped and then Alayaya screamed again and again.

"You are evil" Alayaya whispered when they were done, between ragged breaths but Alayne only laughed and pressed a gentle kiss on the woman's brow.

"And you are the best lover I have ever had" she said, not untruthfully.

 _Yet, I am better_ , she thought to herself pleased and saw the gleam in the other woman's eyes as she exited the room with a wicked smile fixed upon her face, the other whores in Chataya's regarding her with perplexed expressions.

She found Littlefinger sharing a glass of Abor red with Chataya, discussing business.

"Would you care for a glass of wine?" Chataya asked noticing the glow on her face.

Alayne shook her head. "Maybe another time"

Upon finishing their discussion, she and Littlefinger returned to their chambers in the Red Keep.

When Petyr bid her goodnight his gaze was half lust, half admiration and half fatherly love.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 3 - No one.**

Swift as a deer. Quiet as shadow.

Fear cuts deeper than swords.

Quick as a snake. Calm as still water.

Fear cuts deeper than swords.

She was no one. She was nothing. She was the poor girl selling cabbages in Flee bottom during the day, she was the cook's help in the Red Keep, she was the thief in the streets of King's Landing.

 _They killed Sansa_ , she thought bitterly. _They killed father, they killed mother, they killed Robb, and they killed Rikon and Bran._

 _But Jon is still alive,_ a voice said inside her but she shook her head angrily.

 _A girl is no one! Who are you?,_

 _No one,_ she would reply and she would get hit with a sword for her efforts.

 _Who are you?_

 _No one!,_ she would cry yet she would receive yet another punishment.

In the temple of the Faceless men, Jaqen h'ghar would hit her with a sword during their lessons. When she had first held a blade again after so long she had almost cried. Yet a blade was only one of the weapons she had gained mastery of. Jaqen h'ghar had taught her how to use a bow, a staff, a morning star, poison.

There was nothing an assassin didn't need.

But most of all she had learned how to use her hands, her fingers, her legs, her chest. She could kill someone with just a press on a neck, a tightening of a necklace, a loose lace.

And kill she had.

In the first years with Jaqen h'ghar, he would allow her only the easiest of deaths.

 _Who is the girl?_

 _No one._

 _No one is not a girl!,_ he would reply and hit her with a sword again.

At first she had had many bruises and cuts deep enough that oftentimes she would not be allowed to leave the Temple of the faceless men. She would tend to the dead, half limping, half crying yet she would do it.

She wasn't the only one being trained. Girls, boys they were all no one.

Yet she was the best of them, she knew. She could wield a sword better than the boys, if they were indeed boys, use her hands to kill someone easier than the boys, dance away from hits more gratefully than any female dancer could.

Six years after when Jaqen h'ghar told her to go back to Westeros she was no one. She did not even flinch in the sound of the name. She was a shadow. A water dancer.

The names he had whispered to her were plenty yet none that she could not kill. The number of people she had killed was marked on her wrist. Three hundred and seventy eight. The God of Death wanted the number. To him she made her offerings.

If she was captured the tears of Lys would offer her a quick escape. Yet, she did not intend to be captured.

When she had returned to King's Landing she had expected it to be the same yet it was different. Snow covered every street, the house windows tightly shut, the food sold scarce and old. In a different light it may have looked like Winterfell if not for the Red Keep towering high over all other buildings in King's Landing.

Winter is coming where the Stark words yet winter had arrived and killed more people than she could have ever hoped to kill herself.

In superstitions and magic she did not believe, yet when someone had openly claimed to have seen a white walker the stories of old nan came to haunt her at night.

 _I am no one,_ she would tell herself. _No one have no nightmares._

"The lord Commander of the Night' Watch, you know, that bastard son of Stark, was slain by his comrades for letting the wildlings come to the South of the Wall. Some say he has risen to take revenge and he leads and army of wights, wildings and wolves coming down to King's Landing to reclaim what was taken from him" the cabbage seller she had bought her cabbages from, had said.

She had asked for tidings and she had gotten them.

The names on her list seemed familiar, yet not. Tyrrells, Flowers, Manderlys, Lannisters, Cleganes, Tullys, Freys, Snows…

The list was endless. Once she may have even spoken to the people she was going to kill. Did it matter anymore? Not in the least.

Who had bid her to kill these men she knew not.

 _Look with your eyes, hear with your ears,_ a voice would tell her and this she did.

In her first month in King's Landing she had learnt much and more. The people she must kill were always somewhere high in the food chain yet not too high as to raise suspicion.

The Freys she had murdered in a whore house in her first week and thrown their bodies out in the cold. She had heard that the Frey Lord had been displeased. Very.

Did it matter? No.

He was in her list as well as most of his sons and grandsons. A massacre she was asked to perform, yet none of her victims were below the age of twenty and none had shared the meat and mead of her house.

She had worn the Frey's face for some time until they had found one's body. She had made sure to skin their faces and throw their belongings yet apparently one had had a birth mark, quite distinct that she had missed.

She cursed herself for this, yet there was naught she could do. She had to change her face and she took the one of a girl who died of hunger the next day. She had given her water and bread but the little girl had only retched them back up. Her face was a hollow one, speaking of hunger and nothing else. People never even glanced at her.

The Boltons were in her list as well though someone had killed them for her.

 _And Sansa too,_ a small voice cried but she drowned it.

The knight had been in the Queen's service. Not Cercei's, the other one, the pretty young woman who had birthed two Lannister heirs.

Yet, the story the knight had told was a simple one. Too simple and too naïve and from the rumours told, Bolton and his bastard were cleverer than most. They had defeated King Stannis, spread his armies and crushed him like an onion. They had killed the Starks and sided with the winning side.

A girl was going to look for them. And if they were still alive, a girl was going to kill.

She gazed at one of the names on her list, the most familiar, yet the one she had been instructed to kill the last.

 _Littlefinger._

The name left a bitter aftertaste in her mouth and she knew not why.

 _Alayne, his bastard daughter._

The one who had slept with the knight she had questioned and laughed when he said he had killed Sansa Stark.

Yes. Those two she would enjoy killing the most.

….

King's Landing could wait, she decided the next day, rereading the list of names once again. Freys and Bolton she must kill first. There were ten Freys in her list. Enough to raise suspicion. What was worse was that at the moment they were all located in the Twins, though rumour had it that they would soon cross the Rivers and relocate to Kings Landing or Storm's end or Dragonstone. As both of these strongholds had once belonged to the Baratheons, they were now barely occupied.

Her information on who held what, seemed to differ. Someone said that Dragonstone was to be used by the Dornish people while Storm's End by the Freys. Others argued that the Greyjoys had taken over Dragonstone and were attacking Storm's end.

Whatever the case, she knew one thing for certain. She was bound to find at least half of the Freys in the twins. She was to set off at dawn before the arrival of Robert Arryn, Lord of the Vale.

She had saddled her horse already when she went to exit the North Gates, yet the Guards stopped her. She had the face of a plump man, her excuse was that she was heading to the Twins with the remnants of his sons' bones.

The Guards regarded her cautiously.

"Why not the silent sisters?" they asked.

The man, her, gave a loud laugh. "Silent sisters are raped almost everywhere from the Wall to Dorne. They are afraid to do their bidding and who's to blame them? In truth I hate doing a woman's work. Carrying bones? No, not my thing. I was to carry battle axes and swords to the Wall, not bones to the Freys. Nevertheless I would do anything for a warm bowl of food and some silver"

They would have let her through she was certain of it, only that the horn signalling the arrival of the Lord of the Eyrie was heard and the guards sat up straight. They locked the Northern Gates and she wanted to scream.

She could have killed them, both of them. Yet, they were not on her list and the God of Death takes what is offered. If too many lives are given to him at once he grows greedy and demands more.

Quick as a snake. Calm as still water.

Atop her brown mare she run to the Southern Gates only to find the main square crowded. She unhorsed, only to soon regret it. There was no way of moving to where she wanted quickly enough.

Calm as still water.

She paused and watched silently the parade. No less than a hundred knights, advisors, servants and squires had come down from the Vale. White gallant horses and beautifully ornamented carriages were aplenty.

The Vale lacked no coin from the likes of it and no food either as even the servant girls and squires seemed to have been fed well. In comparison, the people of King's Landing were once again starving. Once, the Tyrrells had brought with them from Highgarden, all manners of fruit and grains and vegetables and the city had prospered. Those times were long gone though, the Tyrrells fertile gardens frozen to the core, the only grains that grew nuts and seeds. The Vale did not have such troubles it seemed. At the back of the carriages, oats and wheat, cherries and berries, juicy oranges, crunchy seeds, wheels of mature cheese, lentils and beans were spilling from the bags.

For a second the assassin paused.

 _Opening your eyes is all that is needing. The heart lies and the head plays tricks with us, but the eyes see true. Look with your eyes. Hear with your ears. Taste with your mouth. Smell with your nose. Feel with your skin. Then comes the thinking, afterward, and in that way knowing the truth._

Even though the Eyrie resided the closest to the Wall and the Lands of North, the Vale was protected from tall mountains and peaks that concealed most of the cold and the winds. She did not doubt that certain grains could still could grow plenty. The Vale was also situated close to the sea which meant that fish and clams would be easy to catch.

Tubers and cabbages, oranges, nuts and seeds, wheels of cheese and milk would be easy to produce. The rest would have needed to be stored. The question was where but she did not doubt that Littlefinger would have found a way to it. The Vale was said to have been the most prosperous during the last two years.

The Mountain Clans that once resided there had all but been extinguished during a great tournament. This must have taken place six years back, the girl thought.

During that time, great knights had come from all over the Vale with the purpose of distinguishing themselves and making a name. Some had been picked to form the Winged Knights, the circle that was Lord Arryn's own personal sworn knights. Rumours told that the rest of the knights and squires not to be selected had been displeased and the Lord of the Vale had sent them off to wipe clean the Mountain from the Clans of Old that still lingered there. Very few Mountain Clans were still left as most had perished during the service of one of the Five Kings. The young and eager knights had soon returned and earned great places in the council, earning lands that had once belonged to the Mountain Clans. Each Knight had built a stronghold in the mountains, farming the land around with his servants and producing enough to feed himself and his people yet give more to the Eyrie.

 _A most clever of plans_ , the assassin realised. If an enemy was to approach the Knights of the Mountains could do nothing but to protect their lands to the death. If Gods were good they would also sent a raven or a falcon to the Eyrie informing them of the newcomers.

By then the Eyrie would be ready for whoever came. Even if an army of fifty thousand swords came, none would be able to bypass the boundaries made from stone and rock.

All and more she had learnt in the brief time that she had been standing in the parade. The common people loved nothing more than to gossip and hungry as they were the talk of food was what predominated the conversation.

The Lords of the Vale were good, a whore whose skinny hand seemed to be made out of wood would say. They would give King's Landing food.

 _Not without coin though,_ the assassin reflected.

As hunger ranged in the North and the West, those that survived seemed to do so by purchasing from the Vale and Dorne. These were the only lands which winter had not yet completely touched. The Lands of North were frozen, the snow reaching as tall and high as a full grown man. Growing food was impossible. Hunting of deer and wild boars and rabbits had been the Northmen's choice for some time till even the wild animals died of cold and hunger. Lakes and rivers were frozen, the only thing which fell being snow. Only towns like White Harber which were close to the Sea would survive for a while, eating fish and seaweed and all manner of other weird concoctions.

Yet hunger and cold seemed to be the least of their problems.

White walkers had been raiding the Lands of the North and the River lands. Some had argued they had been even been sighted in the Reach and Lannisport. No one knew for certain if there was an army. All however knew that winter was coming, crowding King's Landing and asking for protection.

The Lord Commander of the North, the Snow Bastard was said to have been holding them, surviving against their attacks. The common people said he had the Old Gods watching over him and he used a pack of wolves to attack and giants and wildlings. Some said the Lord Commander was dead and a Ghost had come to take his place; others argued passionately that he had sided with the White Walkers.

She returned her eyes to the parade and watched the carriage stopping in front of the Gates of the Red Keep. Guards had been placed all around trying to stop the common people from storming forward though more oft than not a small man or child would jump in front of the parade with hollow eyes and gaunt expression.

The Lord of the Vale came down his carriage, looking all thin and tall, with a mane of dark brown hair reaching his waist. It was combed back and it shone under the faint morning light.

For a second she remembered that this must have been the cousin of Arya Stark, the girl she once used to be. Too long ago though. Now, she was no one.

When the boy opened his mouth to speak he coughed and quickly wiped his mouth with a cloth that one of the servant girls offered to him.

The assassin was quick to see that the cloth had been dark red when they took it away. Blood, she thought.

The boy made another attempt and gave a half smile. Someone produced a stick and gave it to him. The stick was tall, taller than he was and made out of dark ebony wood, a colour similar to the little Lord's hair. He kneeled on it and seemed to regain his balance.

The common people pushed to come close to him but he raised a hand in the air. "I come bearing gifts for all. Food and wine. Meat and ale. The cooks are to prepare a splendid feast tonight and the food will be offered to you. In the meantime I offer you the wine and ale"

That seemed to make the people squirm and protest but he rose another hand in the air. "Do not rush. There will be more than enough for everyone. Though the drink will be offered under Maelor's Holdfast…"

He did not even manage to finish his sentence before the common people started going the opposite way. Like rats looking for cheese.

The assassin quickly stood to the side. Once she may have been small enough to hide under the storm of feet and find her way through to the Gates but she had grown an inch or more during her training. She could still hider under the sea of legs if she so wished yet with her mare at hand this was not so easy.

Before long, the crowd had dispersed and very few remained. The assassin could have left then. The Gate was open yet she lingered.

King Tommen and his white cloak knights came next, followed by his young Queen. Another woman came forth then, one which was older, yet her hair still kept the same shine of yellow.

Hate rose to the assassin's cheeks and threatened to spill yet she stayed silent.

 _Cercei,_ her mind whispered yet the Mother Queen's name was not on her list something she found most baffling.

Other faces came to greet the Lord of the Vale. The assassin recognised only one, Ser Kalos Lannister, Captain of the Kingsuard. He wore dark gloves in both hands and he seemed to flex his left one often.

A slender man came next, one who had a pointy beard and grey strands of hair.

 _Littlefinger,_ her mind said.

He was accompanied by a slender, beautiful woman with dark red brown hair, yet the woman was wearing a cap over her head and the assassin could not quite make her features. She looked familiar, yet different.

The Lord of the Vale greeted them both with warmth and the assassin did not fail to notice how his arms stayed around the woman's waist a bit too long. She also did not fail to see how the woman leaned forward and whispered something in his ear. The boy smiled yet the woman then pushed him back and said something.

The assassin read her lips. _My Lord father had bid me to head to Harenhall. I am to leave soon._

Lord Arryn seemed instantly sad yet he said nothing, only gave her another warm hug and walked forward.

 _They are lovers,_ the assassin concluded.

She hoped that what the woman had said was true. A trader carrying Frey bones to the Twins was less likely to be suspected or attacked when in the company of others.

The assassin waited then. She waited until the food had been cooked and the feast had taken place. All the while splendid smells reached her nostrils telling her of honey spiced boar and pies made out of oats, wheat, nuts and vegetables, lentil broth and stews made with potatoes and carrots to thicken them, sweet orange pies and mature wheels of cheese….

The Little lord kept his promise. Food was brought to the steps of Maelor's Holdfast and given to the people. The assassin grabbed a pie for himself and ate it silently near the Red Keep, waiting.

She did not have to wait long.

The woman had come at last, with a company of a hundred and fifty men in her footsteps. The assassin noticed how all of them were hard men, soldiers and knights and tough as boars, thick of neck and shoulder. Women there were but few, mostly handmaids and servant girls and some boy squires.

When the Gates opened, the Guards did not glance at her twice as she wheeled her small carriage under the snow with the bones of Freys, following behind the procession ahead of her.

A/N: Dont forget to leave reviews and tell me what you thought and to know whether to continue this story or not.


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